


Put All of Your Anger On

by LucRambles



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emetophobia, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Underage, but then his friend beat up miklan so, sylvain needs a hug but i had to torture him first im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-10 04:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21474562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucRambles/pseuds/LucRambles
Summary: "I always knew he was a piece of garbage. I can't wait to see the look on his face when he realizes I'm in the group sent to take him down."Sylvain feels it has to be him who kills Miklan, because who else would it be? He should hate his brother, but he doesn't, and he doesn't really want to be the one who kills him.His friends, on the other hand, hate Miklan very much and do want to kill him.aka: Everyone has Sylvain kill Miklan for the angst but what about Childhood Friends seeing Miklan and going Fucking Feral because they know how he treated Sylvain.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, childhood friends all love each other baby!
Comments: 5
Kudos: 234
Collections: Quality Fics





	Put All of Your Anger On

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: I use fictional characters to fulfill the fantasy of beating the shit out of my close friend's abuse relatives.  
You can't convince me that Ingrid, Felix, and Dimitri don't see Miklan and just lose it. You ever get tired of being nice? You ever just wanna go apeshit? You ever just wanna go fucking feral?  
This was supposed to be just the Childhood Friends beating up Miklan but I physically cannot write anything without plot it seems so Angst(tm) made its way in. But Miklan still gets his ass kicked, so
> 
> I'm not totally happy with this and posted it early on inpulse for The Validation(tm) so expect edits to be made. Date of the most recent edit will be in the summary.
> 
> PLEASE MIND THE CONTENT WARNINGS. Additionally, please tell me if I forgot any. I ended up torturing Sylvain a bit in the middle and he has some flashbacks and, well it's not pretty. Most of the mentions are fairly brief, but regardless make sure to take care of yourself and mind potentially triggering content. 
> 
> If you're good to go, then please continue to this mix of Sylvain angst, his friends caring about him and trying to help, and Miklan getting the shit kicked out of him.
> 
> Title from "Novocaine" by Fall Out Boy.

Sylvain did not react when Byleth told the class about their mission for the Verdant Rain Moon. He noticed when a few of his classmates, those who recognized the name “Miklan” (Byleth, thankfully, left off the “Gautier” part of his name, for the moment), cast uneasy glances in his direction. Sylvain pretended not to see them. He pretended the mission didn’t unnerve him.

“I always knew he was a piece of garbage,” he told the Professor when they asked him about it later. “I can’t wait to see his face when he realizes I’m in the group that was sent to take him down.” Half-lies worked as well as truths.

His friends tried to discuss the mission with him during the following weeks. Dimitri and Ingrid told him that the Professor would surely let him sit this battle out if he needed. They offered to listen if he needed to talk. Felix did as well, in his own somewhat abrasive way. They paid too much attention to him during that month—and while Sylvain was not usually one to complain about getting attention, this was the exception.

“Guys, stop it,” Sylvain snapped. He was tired of it. Of Ingrid’s overly concerned looks. Of Felix’s honestly terrible attempts at comforting him. At Dimitri’s endless string of _you can talk to me if you need_ or _you really should speak with the Professor._ Sick of them handling him like a piece of glass. Sick of the looks the rest of the Blue Lions started giving him, as the rumors spread as to who exactly they were going to be fighting was. As they caught on to the odd behavior of the four of them. He was so _damn sick of it._ “I’m _fine,_ okay? I know what you’re all trying to do. You don’t need to worry about me. Back off a little.”

He stormed away from the table they’d cornered him at in the dining hall, ignoring the looks he got as he stalked away, leaving the other three behind in a surprised silence.

Ingrid was the first to break it, sighing as she put her head in her hands. “Why does he have to be so _stubbor_n?”

“We’re not much better,” Dimitri said. “We have been hounding him, lately.”

“We’ve been hounding him because he’s being so damn stubborn,” Felix snapped, but there was less bite than usual behind his words.

A beat, then, “We’re not going to be able to talk him out of going, are we?” Ingrid said.

Felix sighed. Dimitri shook his head. “It doesn’t seem so,” the blonde said.

“Perhaps a broken leg will keep him back,” Felix muttered, only half kidding. “Get him to spar with the Boar and he’ll be down for a good few days.”

Ingrid sighed again, ignoring the mildly panicked look on Dimitri’s face. “I’m almost ready to entertain that idea,” she said. “But if he’s set on going… I don’t think we can keep him back.”

Another pause. Then, “He’s going to do it, you know,” Felix said.

“Come with us? That’s what I just said,” Ingrid said.

Felix shook his head, eyes dropping to the table. “No. I mean he’s going to fight Miklan himself.”

They fell into silence again.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Dimitri said.

“Of course, I’m right,” Felix said, more out of reflex than anything. “I’ve heard him speaking to the Professor about it. He hasn’t said it outright, but I can tell. Regardless of what the Professor tells us during battle, Sylvain’s going to fight him head-on, before anyone else can.”

“If it’s to get back at Miklan for what he’s done to him, I wouldn’t blame him. But… all those years and Sylvain never retaliated. Not once,” Ingrid said.

“He still cares about his brother, disinherited or not,” Dimitri said. “Margrave Gautier sent Sylvain to Fhirdiad for a time after his brother was sent away. He spent almost the entire stay locked in his room and brushed off my attempts to speak with him about it. But I did hear him…” the prince sighed and shook his head. “I heard enough to know he still cared for his brother, even after all that happened.”

“That bastard spent years trying to kill him, how can he be such a fool?” Felix growled. He remembered visiting Gautier for Sylvain’s tenth birthday and panicking when his friend disappeared. He remembered the echoing shouts from one of the wells, how Sylvain shivered violently when he was pulled out. How Sylvain simply said, _“I fell,”_ as his dislocated shoulder was popped back into place and his broken arm healed. _“I fell, I fell, I fell, it was my fault,”_ over and over. He remembered how Sylvain’s brother made himself scarce for the rest of the day.

“I’ll be honest,” Ingrid said. “I’ve always wanted to smash his face in myself. I just never had the chance. He almost never left Gautier, and it’s a little too far from Galatea to visit unless there was business.”

Dimitri looked a little guilty when he said, “I as well. But I was afraid of how Margrave Gautier would react. He wouldn’t take an offense to his family lightly, heir or not. And an outburst like that from the crown prince wouldn’t have gone over well.”

Felix didn’t say that he had, in fact, hit Miklan once so he’d leave Sylvain alone. He’d left a few good bruises before Miklan had pinned him to the wall by his throat, growling that he would regret doing that. Little Felix had braced for the worst, but Miklan never went after _him,_ just dropped him on the ground and stalked away. When Felix saw Sylvain the next day, he was missing a couple baby teeth he hadn’t previously. The red head claimed they had simply fallen out, but that didn’t explain why they were all on the same side, or the half-healed sickly greenish-yellow bruise taking up half his face. When asked about his arm—which was bandaged from just below his shoulder down to the base of his fingers—Sylvain claimed he’d tripped and fallen down the stairs.

It made his stomach churn to think Miklan had ever been right about something: Felix did regret it.

“I wish I’d killed him years ago,” Felix said, his voice low.

Suddenly, Ingrid perked up. “This is our chance, isn’t it?” The boys looked at her for a second before it sank in. “Our mission is to kill him. Well, it’s the retrieve the Lance of Ruin—but we have to kill him anyway. This is our chance.”

“That is not going to be easy,” Dimitri said. Despite his caution, there was a spark of excitement in his eyes. “If Sylvain is set on being the one to fight him, there’s nothing we can do to make him back down.”

“Then we don’t give him that chance,” Felix said. “We just need to get there first.”

* * *

Sylvain couldn't sleep the night before the battle. They were a few days march from the Monastery, and Conand Tower was less than a day out, so they all had to rest. But Sylvain couldn’t—he couldn’t. He tried, but after over an hour of tossing and turning (with surprisingly little complaining from Felix, who shared the tent with him), he gave up. He slid out of his bedroll, pulled on his boots and his jacket, and went for a walk. He gave a small wave to the sentry by the dying campfire as he passed. “Where you off to?” she called.

“Taking a leak, I’m not going far.”

She nodded, and Sylvain continued.

He couldn’t be sure how long he walked for, or how far he went. He just kept walking, hoping to chase away the thoughts circling in his head. Memories better left forgotten. Feelings better left buried. Fears he needed to get over.

_He was five, and his mouth tasted of dirt and blood. Miklan, eight and already much bigger and stronger than Sylvain, laughed when he saw the smaller boy crying. “That’s payback you little brat,” he said. _

_“Payback?” Sylvain sniffled._

_“Yeah, you messed everything up when you were born. You killed Mother and made Father hate me.”_

_“I-I’m sorry.”_

_“Not good enough brat,” Miklan growled before shoving Sylvain in the dirt again._

Sylvain shook his head, as if he could physically get rid of the memory. He always hated Miklan’s words more than his actions. He thinks he could have handled getting the shit beat out of him if Miklan hadn’t been _right._ His Mother died in childbirth, passing from some kind of complication a day later. His father was devastated—but only until he learned Sylvain carried Gautier’s Crest. After that it was almost as if his Mother never existed.

And the Crest—the damn thing in his blood, that he’d cursed so many times throughout his life. The thing that Miklan wished so desperately for. The thing that made Sylvain worthy in his Father’s eyes and Miklan less than worthless.

_He was nine, and Felix was visiting, and Sylvain was happy for a while. Miklan was still being mean to him of course—calling him names and shoving him and hitting him—but not nearly as badly as he usually did. Every time Felix saw, the young boy would puff up and demand that Miklan leave Sylvain alone. Miklan, of course, ignored Felix every time. _

_“I want to beat him up for being so mean to you,” Felix said._

_“It’s okay Fefe,” Sylvain said. “That’s just how older brothers are.”_

_Felix frowned. “Glenn doesn’t hurt me like that. And I don’t think Father ever treated Uncle like that…”_

_“Glenn’s different, and so is Lord Rodrigue,” Sylvain said. “I think most brothers are like Miklan.” He was lying, something he was already far too good at, but he didn’t want Felix to worry._

_“He still shouldn’t do that to you.”_

_Sylvain shrugged. “Well, he does.”_

_“I’m gonna beat him up.”_

_“Don’t waste your energy on him Fefe. C’mon, let’s just go play.”_

_Sylvain had, thankfully, blocked out most of that evening. But he remembered Miklan saying this was all Sylvain’s “stupid bratty friend’s fault” (because nothing was ever, ever Miklan’s fault, was it?), and Felix’s concern the next day when Sylvain showed up with three less teeth and his arm bandaged, having been broken so badly that healing magic couldn’t fix it all at once. The bishops hadn’t believed his excuses, but they all knew better than to push too hard. Felix, on the other hand, threw himself at Sylvain as soon as the lie left his lips, trapping him in a surprising strong bear hug and sobbing out apologies. Sylvain had used his good arm to hold him closer. “It’s not your fault, Fefe. I’ll be okay, I promise. Just… just please don’t tell anyone, okay? And don’t try to fight Miklan anymore. Please.”_

_Felix had agreed, however reluctantly. Sylvain knows it was only because of the unspoken threat of more violence from Miklan._

_He was ten, and he couldn’t feel his fingers. That scared him more than how bad they had hurt. He screamed again, praying for the Goddess to save him. Even during the Garland Moon, Gautier was cold. Sylvain was soaked to the bone and shivering. His shoulder hurt, and he cried out every time he tried to move it—but he had to get out. He had to get _out_. Otherwise he was going to die down there. He clawed against the brick again, hoping to find some kind of handhold, something to grip to so he could climb out, but he just left more bloody smears on the dark stone. _

_Sylvain began to wonder after a while how long it would take for him to die. He knew the cold could kill in only a few hours. Would he last until the sun set? Would he die during the night? Perhaps it would be fitting then—to die on the tenth anniversary of the day he killed his mother._

_At that thought, he collapsed to his knees, his energy suddenly leaving him. Sylvain curled up in a ball, cold water sloshing around him, and sobbed. “I’m sorry for killing you, Mother,” he choked out, perhaps hoping her spirit could hear him and had some love left for her younger son. “Don’t let Miklan kill me, please. I’m sorry I’m so sorry I never should’ve been born.”_

_He was thirteen, and he couldn’t feel anything. Nothing but cold—bitter, biting, brutal cold, nipping at every inch of exposed skin and cutting through his clothes like they were nothing. He wanted to cry but held back as much as he possibly could. He didn’t need tears and snot freezing to his face. He needed to find shelter, some place warm and out of the snow, out of the _cold._ He didn’t want to die. He was scared and sick and so, so _cold.

_He wanted to believe it had been an accident, that Sylvain had just wandered too far and Miklan was coming back for him. But he knew he was only lying to himself. Miklan wasn’t coming back, and Sylvain was going to freeze to death. He sent a weak prayer to the Goddess but didn’t hold out much hope. She had proved that she’d stopped listening to him years ago. _

_When the search party finally found him the next day, he told them he’d wandered off even though Miklan told him not too and had gotten lost. Even though Miklan had told him to go one way while he went another. _

_He was fourteen, and Ingrid was visiting. Sylvain was sporting a necklace of faded bruises, and vehemently denied that they came from Miklan._

_“I know you’re lying to me,” Ingrid said with a huff. “Ugh! Sometimes I just want to kick his teeth in myself.”_

_Sylvain felt ice shoot through his veins and tried not to be sick. “No!” he said, a little too quick and a little too loud, startling Ingrid. “I mean, uh,” he took a quick breath to center himself, trying at act as nonchalant as possible. “Don’t… don’t bother with him, he’s not worth it. I’m sure he’ll get what’s coming to him one day.”_

_But Sylvain didn’t really believe that. Miklan’s rage was justified, wasn’t it? Sylvain had taken everything away from him—their Mother, their Father’s love, his inheritance, his future title—and Sylvain was just a selfish little brat who didn’t want or appreciate any of it. _

_He was fifteen, and Miklan was calling him things he didn’t want to repeat. He’d gone to him after That happened. He needed to talk to somebody, _anybody. _But he couldn’t go to any of his friends, who had all locked themselves away after Duscur, and didn’t need to be burdened with Sylvain’s problems. So foolishly—desperately and oh-so foolishly—he’d gone to Miklan. Some small part of him still clinging to the hope that maybe one day he’d act like a brother. That maybe That was terrible enough to pry some sympathy from him. But he was wrong—oh-so terribly wrong._

_ “It’s all because of that stupid Crest you know,” the older man growled. “That’s the only reason anyone even _looks_ at you.”_

_Sylvain wished again that he didn’t have his stupid Crest. He knew people only flirted with him because of it, and he couldn’t say he disliked the attention, but the night before had been different. He was drunk and it all happened so fast and he didn’t he didn’t he didn’t _he didn’t want_—_

_Miklan shoved him against the wall so hard he saw stars, before letting him crumple to the ground. He was calling Sylvain awful names again. The teen felt disgusting—he’d felt like that since That happened, and Miklan’s words only made it worse. He wanted to tear his skin off, remove every trace of That, and bleed himself out while he was at it. Maybe if he bled enough, he’d get rid of his Crest and he would be free of all this._

_He felt sick again. He rolled onto his hands and knees and puked. His throat burned, tears leaked from his eyes, and he felt cold and clammy all of a sudden. The sight of it made him retch again, his entire body trembling. Miklan just sneered at him before kicking out hard at Sylvain’s arms, knocking him off balance and face-first into the puddle in front of him. Sylvain barely had to strength left to push away from it, trying to wipe his face off with his shirt sleeve. “You deserved it, you spoiled brat,” Miklan growled before he stalked off, leaving Sylvain sobbing on the ground._

_He never spoke of That ever again._

Sylvain smacked himself in the head, _hard._ He didn’t want to remember that—_any_ of that. The memories made him feel sick. He braced himself against a tree and took deep breaths, fighting back all the feelings and the bile rising up inside him.

“There you are.”

Sylvain jumped a foot in the air when a voice came from behind him. He had a half second to berate himself for not at least grabbing a dagger before wandering off into unknown territory alone at night, before he recognized the voice. “Oh, hey Felix,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as shaken as he felt. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I could ask you the same,” Felix replied. The swordsman leaned against a tree; his arms crossed over his chest.

“Yeah, well I had to—”

“Don’t give me the same excuse you gave the guard. You’re a little far away for just a piss.”

Sylvain swallowed, scrambling for some excuse, but Felix spoke again before he could. “You’re thinking about tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Isn’t everyone?” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“It’s different for you.”

Sylvain shook his head. “No, not really.”

“He’s—”

“He’s not my brother anymore. My Father disowned him, remember?”

Felix huffed and crossed his arms tighter. “I know that. But I know you still care about him.”

_Deflect, deflect, deflect._ Sylvain snorted. “No, I don’t. He’s a piece of shit and I’m glad he’s finally getting what’s coming to him.” _Half-lies worked as well as truths._

Except when it came to his friends—to _Felix._ The teen narrowed his eyes, watching so intently Sylvain wondered if his mind was being read. Finally, Felix sighed. “I’m not stupid, Sylvain. You and I both know it’s not that simple.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Sylvain said, breaking Felix’s gaze and looking at the ground.

“I’m just—”

“I know!” Sylvain snapped. “You’re worried, I fucking know! Everyone’s been so _concerned_ for me all damn month, and honestly? I’m getting a little sick of it.”

Felix looked startled. “Sylvain—”

“I don’t want to hear it, okay? It doesn’t matter how many times people say they’re ‘so sorry this happened,’ or remind me about what a low-life piece of shit Miklan is, or tell me to go running back to the Monastery like a coward—none of that changes the fact that this _is_ happening. That my brother finally did something worse than beating the shit out of me for most of my life. He finally screwed up big time and now we’re off to kill him. _I _have to kill him.”

“You don’t—”

“Yes, I do, Felix! It has to be me! And it’s not like it’ll be hard, right? After everything he did? It shouldn’t be hard to shove my lance through his shriveled heart, _right? _I should be happy I have this chance, shouldn’t I?!_”_

“But why does it have to be you?” Felix snapped, throwing his arms down to his sides.

“Because it has to be,” Sylvain said, voice cracking. “It just… it just has to be me.”

Sylvain leaned back against a tree and slid to the ground, exhaustion suddenly setting in. There was silence for a moment. Then, light footsteps approaching, coming to a stop beside him. Felix sat down on the grass. Neither one looked at the other. “Why?” was all Felix said.

Sylvain couldn’t answer him, because he didn’t know the answer himself. He just knew. Maybe it was because they were blood, like Sylvain had some kind of obligation or duty to put Miklan down. Maybe it was because everyone was trying so hard to get him _not_ to do it. Hiding back at the Monastery was too easy, and Sylvain felt he didn’t deserve such an easy out. Wasn’t he the reason Miklan was like this anyway? It would be almost poetic, in a way, for Sylvain to put an end to him. Or maybe he just wanted to prove to everyone that he really didn’t care. After everything Miklan had done to him, he should hate him with all his heart.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. And he hated himself for it. Hated the part of himself that still wanted a big brother—_his _big brother. The part deep down that hoped for years, even after over a decade of torture, that Miklan would suddenly see the light and act like a real brother. To finally be to Sylvain what Glenn was to Felix.

Maybe the self-flagellating part of him just wanted to help Miklan get revenge one more time. His brother spent almost his entire life suffering because of him, why should he get off so easy? Injuries went away in time. Fratricide didn’t.

Sylvain pulled his knees up to his chest and hung his head. He jumped when he felt a light touch on his shoulder and looked up to see Felix’s hand on him. The swordsman gave him a couple of stiff, awkward pats before pulling back and looking at the ground. “Uh… f-forget that happened,” he muttered.

Sylvain was not, of course, going to forget that at all. Painfully awkward as the gesture was, it made Sylvain feel warm inside and brought the ghost of a smile to his face. He chuckled and threw an arm around Felix’s shoulders. The teen tensed for a moment before slowly forcing himself to relax.

After confirming that he was not about to be socked in the gut and cursed out, Sylvain pulled his friend closer and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in the crook of Felix’s neck. A moment later Felix brought his arms up and wrapped them around Sylvain, who in turn clutched even tighter. He didn’t cry (he wouldn’t until a few days later, with the Lance of Ruin staring at him as if it were judging him for his sins), but his breathing stuttered, and his eyes burned as he was overwhelmed with far, far too many emotions to identify.

Eventually, reluctantly, Sylvain pulled away. There was a moment of silence before Felix muttered, “we should head back. It’ll be morning soon.”

Sylvain nodded, not fully trusting himself to speak. The pair walked back together, eventually settling back in their tent. They laid in their separate bedrolls for a few minutes. “Hey, Felix?” Sylvain whispered. “C…can I….?”

“Yeah, get over here,” Felix responded, knowing Sylvain was going to ask to sleep with him. “Just don’t say anything weird.”

Sylvain smiled and practically sprinted across the tent (if one could sprint in a span of three steps), quickly settling in next to Felix. He snuggled up against the swordsman, and after a few minutes, when he hadn’t been pushed away, threw an arm over his abdomen and pillowed his head on Felix’s chest. The other man let out a soft, surprised noise, but didn’t try to move him. Sylvain managed to slip into sleep.

* * *

It rained that night at Conand Tower. It seemed appropriate for such a mission. Sylvain had once heard that those residing with the Goddess could affect the weather and wondered if his Mother was crying for the son she’d known.

“Don’t hold back for my sake,” Sylvain said as the Blue Lions formed up at the top of the tower fortress. “My brother is going to pay for everything he’s done.” He tried to harden his voice, leave no room to question him, but he’s not sure he hit the mark.

Their lines were fairly standard—Dedue, Sylvain, and Dimitri took the front line, with Ingrid and Felix backing them up. Mercedes, Ashe, and Annette took the rear. Byleth took her position in the center and directed the knight who had traveled with them, Gilbert, to the front.

Felix, Ingrid, and Dimitri shared a look before the battle began, and nodded to each other. Their plan was set. Felix grabbed Dimitri’s collar and pulled him close to whisper, “There is exactly one time I will support you letting go and letting that beast run loose. When you see that pathetic piece of shit, be the boar you are. He has it coming.”

Dimitri merely nodded. If he ever wanted to be a beast, this was the time.

“Go!” Ingrid snapped from behind Felix, giving the two a push forward as they began their advance.

The bandits, for the most part, were easy to deal with. Some unexpected reinforcements had Byleth rearranging the formation mid-battle, and no one missed how she sent Sylvain to the back line to deal with the bandits trying to flank them. Or how he cut through them as quickly as he could, anxious to get back to the front. They were getting close to the end—close to Miklan. Everything inside him hurt, but he had to see this through.

His childhood friends weren’t eager when he returned to the front line after Gilbert had the rear guard handled. Sylvain didn’t notice the others trying to get in front of him. His only thought was getting to the top, to the last room—to Miklan.

And finally, he was there.

Years had passed since Miklan left Gautier, but the brothers had no trouble recognizing each other.

“Why have you come, you Crest-bearing fool?” Miklan growled.

“I’m here for the Lance of Ruin, Miklan. Hand it over,” Sylvain said, fighting to keep his voice steady. He raised his own lance and pointed it at his brother, ready to strike. “I don’t want to humiliate you, but I will.”

“Hmph! Hurry up and die already!” Miklan spat. “If it weren’t for you… if it hadn’t been for you…”

“_Shut_ _up_!” Sylvain snapped, anger finally starting to burn through. “I’m so tired of hearing that! You’ve always blamed me for something that isn’t my fault!”

“Just die you little brat!”

Sylvain took a deep breath and braced himself. “I gave you a chance.” _The chance you never gave me._

He’d gotten a pretty good lead, but the rest of the Blue Lions caught up to Sylvain quickly. At the sight of Miklan, they saw red.

“He’s going to _fucking die,_” Felix snarled, then turned to Ingrid and Dimitri. “Ready?”

They nodded. “More than,” Ingrid said with a fire in her eyes they’d never seen before.

“He will pay for what he’s done,” Dimitri growled. Felix had only heard that tone one other time, and as much as he hoped he never had to hear it again, he was almost glad to hear it now.

“Go!” Ingrid yelled.

Dimitri charged forward before leaping off his horse, dropping to one knee and holding his hands out. Ingrid let out a battle cry and sprinted towards him, jumping up to plant one foot in Dimitri’s outstretched hands before he stood and launched Ingrid forward.

Just as Sylvain was about to attack, he heard a loud, primal battle screech from just behind him, startling him so bad he nearly dropped his weapon. Ingrid flew passed him, her lance pointed forward and unwavering. Miklan parried the initial strike, but Ingrid recovered quickly, landing lightly on her feet and blocking the incoming attack.

“Throw me, Boar!” Felix snapped, running over to Dimitri, who launched him forward as he did with Ingrid, displaying the frightening Blaiddyd strength that, apparently, allowed Dimitri to throw two nearly grown soldiers a good hundred feet (possibly more, if they weren’t stopped by Miklan).

The swordsman crashed into Miklan just as he aimed another blow at Ingrid, catching him off-guard and allowing Felix to land a clean shot at a break in his armor by his shoulder. Surprised, Miklan turned his attention to Felix, batting him aside with a hit from the Lance of Ruin. Ingrid used that opportunity to swing the shaft of her lance at the back of his head, hitting with a solid _crack!_

Miklan was thrown off balance for a moment, leaving him open to an additional hit from the two of them before he could swipe out with the Lance of Ruin again, knocking the two away and leaving a nasty looking cut down Felix’s side.

Dimitri caught up then and Miklan struck. Dimitri easily batted the weapon aside and lunged with a primal ferocity. Anyone close enough could tell he wasn’t going in for the kill yet. Instead, he used his lance more as a club, hitting Miklan with the flat of the spearhead and the shaft of the weapon anywhere he could reach. Miklan managed to get a few good hits in, but there was a reason Felix called Dimitri “boar,” specifically—a boar will impale itself on a spear just to take out the hunter who stuck it. And Dimitri lived up to the name “Boar Prince” when he didn’t react to a single strike from the Lance of Ruin, pressing forward and striking out as if he wasn’t freely bleeding from his side.

He was granted a reprieve when Ingrid and Felix made it back to their feet, dividing Miklan’s attention as all three came at him, fueled by years of rage, of years of only watching while he tortured their best friend.

Sylvain could only watch, dumbstruck, as his closest friends practically went _feral._ He thought he’d seen them angry before—Felix burned off steam by beating things up in the training grounds, and he’d been on the wrong side of Ingrid and Dimitri’s anger before, but _this? _This was a new level.

Then he noticed wounds on all three of them and shook himself out of his daze. He was about to charge forward when a large, strong hand gripped his shoulder. “His Highness and the others have him covered,” Dedue said. “You do not need to worry yourself.”

Sylvain opened his mouth the protest, but the other Blue Lions moved in and took up support positions, with Mercedes and Annette healing from a distance and Ashe trying to fill Miklan with arrows. Sylvain felt the fight drain out of him as Miklan was blocked from view. Dedue gripped his shoulder a little tighter. “They knew you did not want to do this,” Dedue said.

_They were right,_ Sylvain thought. “I don’t want to talk,” he said.

Dedue simply nodded and kept Sylvain back as the rest of their house continued their assault.

By the time Miklan broke from the fighting, quite literally backed into a corner, he was breathing heavy and covered in ugly marks that were sure to bruise. “Not bad,” he said. “For a bunch of spoiled rotten children.”

Felix, Ingrid, and Dimitri were about to lunge forward when the Lance of Ruin reacted, taking over Miklan’s body and turning him into a Demonic Beast. The Blue Lions backed away in fear as he transformed. Byleth was immediately shouting commands, somehow knowing just how to attack the creature that was once Sylvain’s brother.

Sylvain and Dedue rejoined the fight after that, but Dedue wasn’t subtle about keeping himself between Sylvain and the Beast. And, despite Byleth’s orders, Dimitri, Ingrid, and Felix were still doing the most damage.

In the end of was Felix who landed the final strike. A combination of hits from Dimitri, Ingrid, and Dedue broke the Beast's barriers, allowing Annette to shoot a powerful blast of magic at a weak spot. Felix charged forward in its wake, burying his blade in the monster to the hilt. “You’re gonna regret everything you did!” he shouted; his words drowned out by the creature’s screech. _“I hope you fucking regret it, you bastard!”_

He tore his sword out and stabbed it into the dying creature again, and a third time as the black mass began to fall away. He would have stabbed a fourth time if Ingrid hadn’t stopped him (after taking a pot shot at the dying Beast herself), grabbing him by the shoulder, grounding him.

Byleth collected the Lance of Ruin and the students began to make their way back down the tower to treat their wounds and rest for the march back to the Monastery. Sylvain hung back, looking at what remained of his brother. Of his tormentor, the man who made almost every waking moment of his life hell. In that moment, he only felt pity for him (the rest—his anger, his sadness, his grief and his rage—those would all come later).

“Sylvain,” Ingrid said, her voice gentle. “Do you want someone to stay with you?”

He shook his head. “No, I want to be alone for a bit, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Dimitri said.

The three went to catch up with the rest of their class when Sylvain spoke up. “Guys?”

They stopped and turned back to him, seeing the faintest ghost of a smile on their friend’s face. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Ingrid said.

“We’ll be at the camp with the others, if you need us.”

Sylvain nodded, and the three left.

They helped Sylvain bury him that night, at the base of Conand Tower. “It doesn’t feel right to just leave him here,” Sylvain said.

The sat vigil with him after the work had been done. They knew without him having to ask, that Sylvain didn’t want to be alone.

“Thank you, again,” he whispered. “You didn’t have to do any of that.”

Ingrid wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer. Dimitri scooted closer, and even Felix tried (and failed) to discreetly shuffle closer. No one said anything, but it seemed they didn’t have to. For a moment, it was like they were all kids again, communicating without having to say a word.

_We know,_ the gestures said. _We didn’t have to, but we did, because we care about you._

For the first time in years, Sylvain felt it, the truth in those words. He was cared for, and there were people who would protect him, just like he protected them.

Sitting there in the dark, wet woods, surrounded by his closest friends, Sylvain felt safe.

**Author's Note:**

> The Childhood Friends definitely plotted with the rest of the Blue Lions to keep Sylvain out of the fight and also make sure they don't die while going feral. Byleth approves. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this! Please leave kudos/comments if you did!


End file.
